


Breathe

by PrioritiesSorted



Series: Heartbeat [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, cw for mention of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/pseuds/PrioritiesSorted
Summary: Three conversations on Air Temple Island, fifteen years after Lin and Tenzin didn't have a baby.It wasn’t as though she hadn’t remembered in previous years—she always remembered—but there was something sharper about it now that Tenzin was back in her life. It was only once she felt that familiar grief tug at her gut, that Lin realized a small part of her had been hoping that the healing of her friendship with Tenzin might have healed other wounds along with it. Instead, the stitching holding them together seemed to snap, string by string, with every tentative smile and invitation to dinner.
Relationships: Kya II & Pema, Lin Beifong & Tenzin, Lin Beifong/Kya II, Pema/Tenzin (Avatar)
Series: Heartbeat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103699
Comments: 103
Kudos: 163





	1. Lin & Tenzin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm like 96% certain that people who wanted a follow-up to "Heartbeat" weren't looking for this, but here we are nonetheless. 
> 
> This is set between S2 and S3, before the airbenders start showing up. 
> 
> I did intend for this to all be posted as a one-shot, but I actually think that the moods of the conversations are very different, but they're all quite intense, so I split it into short chapters. I'll be posting every other day this week, so you can expect chapter 2 on Wednesday, and chapter 3 on Friday.

Cloud hung low over the bay, and Lin couldn’t suppress a shiver as the chill sunk into her bones. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the cliffside, staring out at the waves; her joints were stiff and aching from the damp and the cold, but she would sit a while longer. It had been over a decade since she’d last felt comfortable on Air Temple Island, and her new familiarity with the place and its inhabitants had unlocked something in Lin that she’d been stubbornly ignoring for longer than she cared to admit. 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t _remembered_ in previous years—she always remembered—but there was something sharper about it now that Tenzin was back in her life. It was only once she felt that familiar grief tug at her gut, that Lin realized a small part of her had been hoping that the healing of her friendship with Tenzin might have healed other wounds along with it. Instead, the stitching holding them together seemed to snap, string by string, with every tentative smile and invitation to dinner. 

“It’s cold out here.” Tenzin’s voice broke through the fog of her thoughts. “Won’t you come in? Pema’s made a little extra food in case you wanted to stay.” Lin wasn’t expecting the weight of the blanket as Tenzin draped it over her shoulders; it was still warm from the fires that must be lit inside, and Lin drew it around herself protectively. She didn’t speak, hoping that he’d leave her to it, that he had forgotten, but instead of footsteps retreating back towards the house, Lin heard Tenzin huff out a breath as he sat down beside her. 

“I still think about him, too.” Tenzin said, and Lin turned to look at him for the first time, surprised. “I know we didn’t know for sure, but whenever I imagined… it was always a boy.” 

Lin was taken aback. Tenzin had never mentioned that; Lin knew she would have remembered if he had. She would have remembered because whenever she had imagined the child’s future, she had always seen a girl. A girl who would hate and long for her the same way she’d hated and longed for her own mother. The thought of a boy had never crossed her mind, not even as comfort. 

“I never expected you to think about it at all,” Lin said, to stop herself remembering any further. “Not now you’ve got four healthy little airbenders with a woman who actually wants them.” Her words were barbed, intended to shoo him away, make him leave her alone. 

“I’m not going to let you do that this evening, Lin,” he said, his voice even and measured. 

“Do what?” she spat back. 

“Say something harsh that you don’t mean, just so I’ll get angry with you and leave you alone. I’d like to think we’ve moved past that part of our relationship now.” 

Lin did not reply, only drew her knees up to her chest, her arms folding around them. Instinct told her to bite back that she wasn’t one of his children to be chastised; that he didn’t know her anymore; that he wasn’t better than her; but doing so would only give weight to his accusation. She didn’t know whether to be irritated or relieved that the tactics she’d employed when they were in their thirties no longer worked now that they were both on the other side of half a century. 

She’d come here to be alone, but she’d been alone for enough of the last fifteen years, she supposed. As private as it felt, this was Tenzin’s grief as well, and he’d clearly come to her in the spirit of friendship. It would not not do to push him away, not again, not now. 

“I suppose that all this—us being friends again—it’s reminded me why I was so devastated before,” Lin admitted, her voice small. It felt strange, wrong, to voice her fragile feelings into the air like this, but it was only Tenzin who heard them. “It’s reminded me of what I lost when I lost you. I think that when I realised it—when I realised he was gone, I knew it was the end of us, as well. In the years we were apart, it was easier to tell myself that wasn’t such a loss, but these past months, I… I think there’s a lot I’ve not allowed myself to feel until now. I don’t mean that I still—I’m not still pining after you or anything,” she corrected herself quickly, “but you… you were the only person I had, back then.” 

It was more honest than Lin had been—with herself or with anyone—for a long time, but it still felt a little untrue. There had been Kya, too. Kya who had made her tea and scolded her recklessness and touched her with gentle hands. But Kya had left. Lin had always known Kya would leave. 

Caught up in her memory, Lin hadn’t noticed the change in Tenzin’s expression; gone was the patient exasperation she was so used to seeing, erased by the tears in his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth tugged down. 

“I’m so sorry, Lin,” he choked out. A tear rolled down his cheek, and Lin was surprised by the urge to reach up and brush it away. She didn’t move, though, frozen in place and half afraid that if she unwound her arms from where they circled her knees, that she would fall completely apart. “I was so selfish, always so selfish,” Tenzin continued, his voice cracking in a way even Lin had barely heard before. “I knew you didn’t want—but I was so afraid of failing the Air Nation. I’d chosen you over them—selfishly—for so many years already and I thought… _maybe this is how I can keep her._ But once you actually—it was so hard to watch, Lin, how unhappy you were. Every day I felt you slipping away from me and then Pema—” he cut himself off, as if acknowledging it all again now would reignite the fury that had burned through Lin when she’d first found out. 

“I know—” Lin started to say, but Tenzin shook his head. 

“No, Lin, please let me say this. I’ve been wanting to—for so many years I’ve wanted to tell you how sorry I am for how I handled… everything. I don’t know how I ever thought a _month_ was enough. I think I told myself that you weren’t grieving the way I was—it makes me sick just thinking about it. I told myself that you’d never wanted him and you must be so _relieved_.” He covered his eyes with one hand, taking a shuddering breath. This time, Lin couldn’t stop herself reaching out to lay her palm against the back of his head. She stroked the skin there with the tips of her fingers, a sensation that felt alien and familiar all at once. 

Lin couldn’t count how many times she’d pictured this very scene. A hundred different versions of Tenzin had said a thousand different versions of these words, and in every one, Lin had stared coldly down at him, letting him trip over his apologies until his tears formed a puddle at her feet. She had never imagined that she would want to pull him to her chest, to soothe his pain away. 

“You weren’t wrong, though,” she said. “I _was_ relieved. I was relieved and devastated and terrified, and I hid all of it from you. Please don’t—it’s done now, and we were both at fault.” Lin wished she were better at comfort, that she was full of soft words, but such things had never come easily to her. “Those months—neither of us were at our best, were we?” 

“I don’t know that I can blame you.” Tenzin said, trying to wipe the tears from his face with a corner of his robe. 

It was sweet of him to forgive her, to so easily shrug off the ways that Lin’s grief had made her ugly. For all his faults, Tenzin had never wanted to hurt Lin, not the way she’d wanted to hurt him when she found out about Pema. She’d walked away from the destruction she’d wrought on his island, sickly satisfied in the knowledge that she’d proven him utterly wrong: she was never made to be a mother. She ruined everything she touched. 

“You should,” Lin said, shortly. “I was angry and I was—fuck, I was so jealous. I don’t mean jealous of Pema, or at least—okay, I _was_ jealous of Pema. I was jealous of how _easy_ it was for her to be everything you needed, she just existed as she was, and she was better for you than I ever had been, but—” 

“I don’t want you to think—you were never—you’re incredible, Lin.” It was a testament to how shocked she was that Lin allowed Tenzin to hook an arm around her waist and pull her against his side. Instinctively, she turned so she could drape her legs across his lap and lean her body sideways against his chest. It was more intimate than Lin had been with anyone in a long time, and it should have been awkward, but Lin felt oddly relaxed even as Tenzin continued to apologise. “I’m sorry that I ever made you feel lesser. I was so wrapped up in—”

“You don’t have to, Tenzin. Please.” Lin reached up to pat his shoulder gently, and Tenzin nodded as he pressed his lips together in a tight line. “What I’m trying to say is that, while part of me was jealous of Pema, more than anything I was jealous of _you_. You’d found someone who really understood you, someone you knew you could be happy with, and you weren’t afraid to go for it.” 

“I was terrified, actually,” Tenzin muttered, and Lin couldn’t help the wry little laugh that escaped her. 

“Well then, I guess you were brave enough to try, even though you knew what it would cost you.” Tenzin tightened his grip around her waist. “I’ve never been brave like that. I was always too afraid of the cost of my own happiness.” 

“Do you mean…” Tenzin began, tentatively. “Was there someone you... “ 

Lin spared him having to finish by nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah there was. I think I—I was so angry with you because I’d said no, I hadn’t taken that chance. I’d chosen to be miserable, and you’d chosen to be happy. I hated you for that, but you didn’t deserve it.” Lin gave a wry laugh. “Although maybe you did—it was sort of your fault I ever fell for her.” 

If Tenzin was surprised by the pronoun, he didn’t show it. 

“Oh? How so?” 

“You were the one who insisted I needed a babysitter.” 

It took a few moments for Tenzin to put the pieces together, but it was enough time for Lin’s heart to begin pounding. It was one thing for Lin to have caught feelings for someone else while they were still together (he could hardly fault her for that, after all) but it was quite another for that someone to be Tenzin’s sister. 

“Tenzin, please say something.” Lin hated how small her voice was, how pleading.

“What? Sorry I—I’m just thinking about how many things make sense now.” Tenzin took in her worried expression, and smiled. “You didn’t think I was going to be angry, did you?” 

Lin shrugged. 

“I don’t know what I thought.” 

He laughed quietly, as if the very idea was ludicrous, and Lin allowed herself a smile as she lay her head on his shoulder. She’d forgotten how cold she was when he found her here, but not how lonely. The clifftop was as quiet as it had been all afternoon, but the stillness was soothing, now she had someone to share it with. 

“Have you spoken to her since she’s been staying?” Tenzin asked, breaking the silence. “She’ll be around for a while, and—” 

“Tenzin…” 

“I’m just saying. You know Mom would be _thrilled._ ” 

“Please be quiet.” 

Lin heard Tenzin give a low chuckle before he pressed his lips once, twice, three times to the top of her head. 

“I love you, Lin.” 

She’d made it through the whole conversation dry-eyed, and she hated herself for the tears that threatened to spill now. It was pathetic to think that he had been the last person to say those words to her, over a decade ago, and it had been even longer since they hadn’t been suffixed with a tired, “but...” 

Lin let a couple of tears roll unhindered down her cheek. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to them, not now when the air felt soft and peaceful. 

“Yeah,” she said, through the lump in her throat. “I love you too, Airhead.”


	2. Kya & Pema

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually, the view from the kitchen window was one of the best on the island, but today the cloud hung low, obscuring the view of the bay. Instead, what Kya saw were two figures looking out towards the ocean, huddled close together beneath a deep yellow blanket. One was obviously Tenzin, the blue of his tattoos stark as it emerged from the warmth of the blanket; the head pillowed on his shoulder was less instantly recognisable, but the gunmetal grey hair that spilled down his back told Kya everything she needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came into my house uninvited and stole all my stuff. 
> 
> Fun fact: a similar conversation to this one was meant to be part of the Erosion-verse (and technically still is, it's referenced there) but I think this version of Kya is better equipped for it, so it ended up here instead.

Pema was looking out of the window when Kya arrived in the kitchen with dirty plates piled up in her arms. She barely flinched as Kya set the crockery down with a clatter on the sideboard. 

“You’ll have to tell me what you did to that tofu this evening, Pema,” Kya said, in an attempt to strike up a conversation. “I can never get it to taste of anything, no matter how hard I try.” 

Pema gave no response, continuing to stare blankly out at the clifftops. 

“Pema?” Kya repeated, walking tentatively over to Pema’s side. Usually, the view from the kitchen window was one of the best on the island, but today the cloud hung low, obscuring the view of the bay. Instead, what Kya saw were two figures looking out towards the ocean, huddled close together beneath a deep yellow blanket. One was obviously Tenzin, the blue of his tattoos stark as it emerged from the warmth of the blanket; the head pillowed on his shoulder was less instantly recognisable, but the gunmetal grey hair that spilled down his back told Kya everything she needed to know. 

It had been a grey day just like this one when Kya had turned up at Lin’s apartment—with her stupid steamed buns and her stupider hopes—to find that the world had fallen apart. Realisation dropped into her stomach at the same time as she heard the hitch of Pema’s breath, saw her hand flutter against her face to wipe away a tear. 

Kya froze, uncertain of what to do. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised that Pema was upset to see her husband cradling another woman—his ex-partner, no less—with the tenderness that Tenzin was now holding Lin, but Pema had always seemed so secure, so certain of Tenzin’s love for her. She’d been the perfect wife, after all; there were three healthy airbender children running around the island, with a possible fourth in Rohan, and Kya had never known their marriage to be anything but happy. Then again, Kya had also never known them to spend more than five minutes in Lin’s company if they could possibly help it. 

“I thought…” Pema said, her voice small and trembling, “After Amon I considered—the way they looked at each other I—but I thought the vacation would be good for us. It was good for him to get away from... everything. He could forget about her again, be with his family—but now I…” Pema gave another hiccoughing breath, covering her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t—I know you never liked me very much. You don’t need to listen to me.” 

“Pema…” Kya protested weakly. She couldn't pretend she’d ever really had much to say to Pema, once all the news of her nieces and nephews had been imparted, and the obligatory niceties exchanged. They simply didn’t have a lot in common, and if she was honest, Kya found Pema’s whole wide-eyed-innocence thing a little dull. She certainly didn’t have anything against her sister-in-law, although now she thought about it, she could see exactly how Pema had always thought the opposite. 

The time after Lin and Tenzin’s breakup had been a tense one on Air Temple Island, and though Kya had departed with all possible speed for the Fire Nation, she’d had some choice words for her brother before she left. 

( _“A month, Tenzin? Seriously? A whole month you gave your partner of almost two decades to recover from her miscarriage before you told her you were jumping into bed with someone else. What was the fucking rush, Tenzin? It’s not as though the biological clock is ticking on this one. When did she even get her first period? Last week?”_ )

Kya flinched at the memory. She had known at the time that she wasn’t being entirely fair, but she’d felt bruised and raw herself. She could still smell the blood in the air of Lin’s apartment, was still trying desperately to forget the hollow look in Lin’s eyes when she’d finally let Kya hold her. Tenzin hadn’t seen any of that—Lin had hidden it from him, because of course she had—but Kya hadn’t cared. She’d needed to take out her anger on someone, and her brother had never seemed like a better candidate. 

She shouldn’t be surprised that Pema had thought Kya’s ire was directed at her, too. Admittedly, Kya hadn’t always had the highest opinion of her; the ease with which she’d dismissed Lin, and declared herself Tenzin’s _soulmate_ had made Kya roll her eyes on more than one occasion. Then again, Pema had been twenty one at the time, and Kya couldn’t name many people who hadn’t been stupid and selfish at twenty one. 

“Pema I’m sorry if I—I think you’re a wonderful mother and a good partner for my brother. I’m happy to call you my sister-in-law.” Kya put a hand gently on Pema’s shoulder and took a deep breath in before she continued, “and in the spirit of sisterhood, can I give you some advice?” 

Pema looked up at her, eyes large, and nodded. 

“How old are you now, Pema?” 

“Thirty six.” 

“Right,” Kya said, trying desperately not to sound patronising. “And how long have you lived on the Island?” 

“Since I was eighteen.” 

“So you’ve known Tenzin half your life.” 

“Yes. Kya, I don’t see what that’s—” 

“Lin and Tenzin have known each other for as long as either can remember,” Kya said bluntly. There was no point dressing it up; this conversation was going to be painful no matter how many platitudes she offered, no matter how desperately she wished she wasn’t having it. She gestured for Pema to sit down as she continued, “Lin was the age that you are now when Tenzin left her for you. They’d been together for sixteen years. I’m not trying to belittle the love that you and Tenzin share—no-one who’s seen you together could doubt that you adore each other—but you cannot even _begin_ to understand what is between them.” 

There was something a little like petulance in Pema’s gaze as she stared up at Kya. The tear tracks were fresh on her cheeks, and Kya was reminded oddly of Ikki, when she knew she was tired but refused to go to bed. Pema crossed her arms, only strengthening the likeness. 

“I think that’s pretty easy for you to say.” 

Kya wasn’t sure if it was laughter or tears or both that were threatening to spill, but she held them valiantly back.

“I know this will be hard for you to accept,” she continued, as if Pema hadn’t spoken, “but the love they have for each other—the love that’s been there since before either of them thought of the other romantically, since long before you were born—that love is never going to go away. I’m sorry if no-one told you before, but this is what you signed up for when you looked at a man who had spent three and a half decades loving someone else, and you decided you wanted him.” 

It was a truth Kya knew too well herself, and she tried not to resent Pema for her years of blissful ignorance, tried not to resent the ease with which Tenzin had fallen out of his unhappiness and into her arms. How much had it taken? A gentle touch on his forearm? An offer of a shoulder to cry on? Kya still remembered the way Lin’s whole body had trembled as Kya asked—begged, really—for Lin to come away with her. 

“So, what?” Pema snapped. “I should just resign myself to knowing that the love of my life is in love with someone else? Was always in love with someone else?” 

_Yes,_ Kya wanted to say. _Yes, you should, because it doesn’t mean he loves you any less._ She had a feeling that Pema wouldn’t react well to that, though, and she wished she didn’t understand why. Kya wished that—just sometimes—things could be simple. She wished that love was easy to categorise, that feelings were easy to forget; she wished that people were either good or bad, in love or out of it, right or wrong. 

“You want your husband to be happy, right?” Kya asked, her voice carefully even. She didn’t want to upset Pema any further, but she was running out of ways to say _you’re so young_ , that wouldn’t hurt Pema’s feelings. 

“Of course I want him to be happy,” Pema said, her voice strained and defensive. 

“Well, he was happy with Lin for most of his life,” Kya said, too tired and too heartsick to mince her words. “I know that you only ever saw them at the end, when things were rough, but they weren’t always like that. Most of the time they were friends; they supported each other, they made each other laugh, they understood what it was to carry the weight of a legacy, and they helped each other bear that burden. Giving all that up, giving _her_ up when he fell for you… it must have been one of the hardest things he’s ever done.” Kya could still remember the first time she’d looked into Lin’s eyes and thought, _if I were my brother, I’d let the Air Nation crumble._ Tenzin might have chosen differently, but he’d still loved her, and as much as Kya had hated him at the time, she’d pitied him too. She sighed. “It’s not your fault that no-one told you this, Pema, but I need you to know now because he doesn’t deserve to have to choose again. I’m begging you not to ask that of him.” 

For a long moment, Pema said nothing. The defensiveness in her posture slackened, replaced by an anxious ringing of her hands. Tears were beginning to bloom in her eyes again, and she opened and closed her mouth several times before she eventually spoke. 

“I wouldn’t—I don’t want to make anything difficult for him,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “But you have to—Kya _look_ at them.” 

Kya did not have to look at them; she remembered the image well enough from the brief glance she’d taken earlier. She couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t made something green and unpleasant snarl in her chest, but she could at least acknowledge that the feeling was irrational. Then again, Kya was privy to information that Pema had almost certainly forgotten, if she ever knew it at all. She’d hoped—naively—that she wouldn’t have to make this decision. Kya knew that Lin wouldn’t want her most private grief to be shared with anyone, perhaps least of all with the woman who had succeeded where she had failed, but she also knew that Lin’s pride, in the long run, was less important than the tentative peace she was beginning to build on Air Temple Island. Perhaps Lin would hate her for this, but that didn’t matter, Kya told herself. 

“Pema,” she said, finally taking a seat at the table. “I didn’t want to—I don’t know if I _ought_ to tell you this, but I don’t know how else to put your mind at ease. I assume you know Lin was pregnant shortly before she and Tenzin broke up.” Pema nodded, frowning. “Then you’ll also know that she lost the baby at the beginning of her second trimester. That was fifteen years ago today. They’re not… what you see out there isn’t some secret passion. It’s grief.” 

“Oh,” Pema said softly. She rose from the table to look out of the window again, and Kya braced herself for another bout of tears, but Pema only sighed. “I can’t imagine… poor thing.” 

“I don’t know if they’ve ever even talked about it before, not really,” Kya mused. Lin and Tenzin had been so broken by then, the loss of the child had severed whatever intimacy they were still clinging to. Kya had tried her best to keep her distance, but she could not escape noticing the way Lin hid her emotions from Tenzin, or the way he avoided her in turn. “They need this, even if it is fifteen years too late.” 

“Of course they do,” Pema said, turning back to Kya with a watery smile. “Thank you, Kya. I’m glad you told me. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.” 

As much as she wanted this conversation to be over, Kya could see the neat little pieces of Pema’s life putting themselves back together, building a wall between herself and the uncomfortable truths that Kya had tried so hard to make her understand. It wasn’t Kya’s business; it wasn’t her responsibility to fix the gaping hole Tenzin had left in his relationship by refusing to talk to his wife about Lin. 

“Pema—” Kya said, against her better judgement, “—everything I told you before: that’s all still true. She’s going to be back in his life now, and you need to be okay with that. I know you can’t understand it, but will you try? For Tenzin?” 

Pema wavered. Kya could see the cogs turning in her head, trying to fit the smooth boundaries of her neat little world against the jagged edges of reality. She frowned, but nodded. 

“I’ll try.” 

Kya’s breath of relief had barely left her body when she heard the door open behind her. 

“I’m sorry we missed dinner, Pema. We lost track of—” Tenzin stopped abruptly, taking in his wife’s tear-stained face, the strained atmosphere of the room. “Is everything alright, dear?” 

Pema nodded sharply, though she couldn’t conceal the tears that were once again brimming in her eyes. She looked from Tenzin to Lin, taking in their loose, contented posture and the way they still gravitated ever so slightly towards each other, before she all but fled from the room. 

“Pema!” Tenzin called after her. He hesitated for a moment, looking to Kya in confusion. 

“She saw you two,” Kya supplied, wearily. “Out there on the cliffside. I tried my best to talk her down but she might uh—she might need some reassurance.” 

The colour drained from Tenzin’s face, and he sent an apologetic glance to Lin before hurrying after his wife. 

Left alone in the kitchen, Lin refused to meet Kya’s gaze. They’d seen each other around for the last few weeks, though Lin’s visits to the island had been less frequent than Kya had secretly hoped. The vines now covering the city had taken up much of her time (according to Tenzin) and Kya had barely opened her mouth to ask about them, to ask anything that might make Lin stay, when Lin said, 

“I should go.” She turned and walked briskly back the way she had come. 

Kya hesitated only for a moment before she called, 

“Lin, wait.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know opinions on Pema are like... wildly variable (because Bryke gave us so little to go on) but mine is that she's a fundamentally kind and caring person, who is nonetheless very naive and somewhat self-centered. I think I like how she turned out here, but as I said, this chapter was a real bitch.


	3. Lin & Kya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kya’s touch on her arm was like a shock, a brand; Lin half expected to look down and see the imprint of slender fingers burned into her skin. It stopped her in her tracks. 
> 
> “Kya, I should go. I’m not wanted here,” she said through gritted teeth. She could see her escape, see the path leading down to the ferry and back to the city. Behind her, Kya’s heart thumped a nervous beat, and Lin could not bring herself to turn and face it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, then! 
> 
> I've honestly go no idea whether this is good. It's very different from the past two chapters I think, but I'll leave it up to y'all to decide whether that's a good thing.

Kya’s touch on her arm was like a shock, a brand; Lin half expected to look down and see the imprint of slender fingers burned into her skin. It stopped her in her tracks. 

“Kya, I should go. I’m not wanted here,” she said through gritted teeth. She could see her escape, see the path leading down to the ferry and back to the city. Behind her, Kya’s heart thumped a nervous beat, and Lin could not bring herself to turn and face it. 

“Lin. Lin, listen to me. It’ll be alright. You’re not going to lose him again.” Kya said. Her voice was tinged with desperation, and Lin’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She whirled around. 

“That’s not—I’m not _after_ him, Kya. We weren’t—” she started, but Kya only squeezed her wrist gently. 

“I know.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

Now that they were face to face, Lin couldn’t stop herself from taking Kya in. They’d only been in the same vicinity a few times since Kya had taken up residence on Air Temple Island, and Lin had always done her best to avoid looking at Kya straight on. She had existed to Lin as flashes of silver hair and half-heard laughter. It was easier that way. 

Now, she stood before Lin, her fingers still wrapped around Lin’s wrist, even more beautiful than Lin had feared she would be. Signs of her age, of the years that had passed since they were last this close, were plain on her face, but they only made the youthful sparkle of her blue eyes more captivating. The silver of her hair shone despite the heavy cloud above them, as if she carried her own light with her, and Lin was momentarily speechless. 

Kya, apparently, was not. 

“I um—I told Pema about… why the two of you were out there,” she said. “I’m sorry.” 

Her anxiety was written on her face, and Lin wished it wasn’t warranted. On any other day, she might well have snapped, might have lashed out in anger and hurt pride. Today, though, she was already wrung out and tired of her own rage. 

“Don’t be. You did the right thing. They’ve had a hard year and they don’t need—” 

“I didn’t do it for them.” Kya’s hand slipped from Lin’s wrist, resting the tips of long fingers in Lin’s palm. 

“Oh,” Lin said, stupidly. She looked down at their hands, almost joined, and felt her heart flutter in a way she’d forgotten it could. 

“This place misses you, Lin.” It was such an odd, _Kya_ thing to say, and Lin was at a loss to know exactly what she meant by it. Lin wouldn’t put it past Kya, who had spent her childhood asking trees for their permission before she climbed them, to really be talking about the island itself, but something in her tone told Lin that she wasn’t. Whatever—whoever—Kya meant was irrelevant. 

“It shouldn’t,” Lin said. “I’ve not been good to it.” 

“There’s always time to make amends,” Kya replied. It sounded like an invitation, and Lin was damned if she was going to ignore it. 

“Would you—do you want to walk down to the ferry with me?” she ventured. Kya’s answering smile was blinding; she withdrew her fingers from their resting place on Lin’s palm, but Lin was only disappointed for a moment before Kya tucked her hand into the crook of Lin’s elbow. 

“Certainly, Ms Beifong.” 

She half expected to be questioned about her conversation with Tenzin, to be told in detail what had caused the redness in Pema’s eyes, but perhaps that was because she had been spending too much time with teenagers recently. Kya, despite her ability to talk to almost anyone, knew when to respect a silence, and when not to ask questions. 

Lin felt lighter for talking to Tenzin, yet the sensation frightened her, as if the wrong world, the wrong look might unmoor her and send her floating off into nothingness. Lin was glad of Kya’s grounding touch on her arm, the soft sound of her footsteps, just slightly out of sync with Lin’s own. Her presence was as soothing as it was terrifying, and Lin couldn’t deny she was glad of it. As they made their careful way down the path towards the pier, Lin could see the ferryman unmooring the boat, preparing to leave. The sight ought to have made her hurry, but it didn’t. Beside her, Kya made no effort to quicken their pace. 

By the time they reached the dock, the ferry had pulled away and was making its slow but steady way back to Republic City. Lin couldn’t pretend she was disappointed. 

“Guess we’ll just have to wait for the next one,” Kya said cheerfully, leading Lin away from the pier and down onto the beach below. Lin followed dumbly, allowing Kya to drag her—scrambling down the rocks like children—onto the sand. The shifting of the earth beneath her felt disorientating to Lin, but Kya seemed made to walk on uncertain ground, the sinking of the sand beneath her feet only emphasising the fluid grace of her movements.

Lin watched Kya for a few long moments, looking for things that marked her as different, but besides the silver of her hair, there was remarkably little to show that so much time had passed. Kya’s feet skimmed the very edges of the water, and Lin might have thought she was dreaming, were it not for the confusing mess of her thoughts. In her dreams, Lin always knew what to say—or no words were uttered at all—but reality left her head spinning. 

“What are we doing here, Kya?” she said eventually. There were a hundred other things she wanted to say, better questions she wanted to ask, but none of them came to her tongue. 

“You asked me to walk to the ferry with you.” Kya said, eyes wide and innocent. Lin had seen that look deployed far too many times to believe it. 

“You know that’s not what I meant.” 

“Maybe,” Kya admitted. Then, “Maybe I just missed you.” 

Lin rolled her eyes. 

“What, for fifteen years?” 

“Yeah.” Kya didn’t pause, didn’t flinch, as she fixed Lin with a stare that was half a caress and half a challenge. 

Lin couldn’t count how many times she’d gone over every touch, every look, every word shared between them, combing through the evidence that Kya had loved her. She had dismissed much of it as circumstantial—Kya had to touch her for the purpose of checking on her health, it could have been a coincidence that their eyes met just when they did—but some things, some things she had filed away and labelled. 

Exhibit A: the way her heartbeat increased when she touched Lin’s bare skin. 

Exhibit B: _run away with me._ Lin had replayed those words so many times, she had begun to wonder whether she made them up. 

Exhibit C: this. Now. 

“I missed you too,” Lin said. The words sounded so flimsy, so insubstantial, but Kya’s eyes sparkled as she replied, 

“What, for fifteen years?” Her tone was light, teasing, and the curl of her half-smile sent a shiver of heat down Lin’s spine. 

“Yeah.” 

It wasn’t a confession, but it seemed to satisfy Kya, whose smile widened as she retreated from the ocean’s edge to sit with her back against a large, smooth stone. She held out a hand, beckoning for Lin to join her. 

They sat together on the sand, shoulders not quite touching, and looked out across the bay as the sunset washed the grey clouds pink and purple. 

“Have you ever considered retiring, Lin?” Kya asked. The question took Lin by surprise, as she shook her head. 

“You really think I could just up and leave? Have you seen the state of the city, Kya? Those vines alone are—” 

“Not now. Not this year, or next year. Just someday.” _Someday soon,_ went unsaid, but Lin heard it anyway. 

“I don’t know. What would be the point? What would I do if I didn’t have the job?” Lin could see it all far too clearly; a couple of decades filled with meaningless routine and loneliness. Who would even bother with her, once they weren’t obliged to because the world was ending, or the city needed saving? Korra might drop by every once in a while, if she remembered, or she needed advice; thirty minutes previously, she might have hoped for lazy games of Pai Sho with Tenzin, but she didn’t know how Pema would react to that. Something in her gut gave a nervous little flutter as she imagined the hundred awkward ways that Tenzin might find to tell her they couldn’t be friends after all, before Kya’s voice pulled her back to reality.

“You could travel.” 

“I suppose so,” Lin knew the world was large, and her dedication to Republic City had meant there was much of it still unseen. Kya had told her half a hundred stories of far flung places in the months they’d spent cooped up in Lin’s office together, and Lin couldn’t deny that they’d filled her with a longing beyond the one that pushed, guilty, against her ribcage every time Kya touched her. 

But Lin didn’t have Kya’s easy friendliness, or her ability to adapt and change with the wind. When Lin envisioned herself exploring the world, it was as a solitary observer, passively checking sights and experiences off a list. Depressingly, it still sounded better than leaving herself to rot in Republic City, forgotten and alone. It might even be good for her, to set out into the world like her mother had. 

“You’d be willing to lend me your maps?” she asked, teasing. Kya’s maps were a thing of beauty; every one was covered in Kya’s tiny handwriting, marking out unknown trails and hidden wonders, and Kya protected them as if they were her own children. 

“Fuck, no. Where my maps go, I go,” Kya said. “Besides, you’d need a tour guide.” 

There was something tentative in her voice that hadn’t been there moments before. Gone was the daring, the boldness that Lin had always admired in Kya. For the first time that evening, it seemed she was afraid of Lin’s response. 

_Run away with me._

The words were so clear in her memory, it was as though Kya had spoken them aloud. Lin had wanted so badly to say yes; it had been physically painful to keep herself from twisting her hands into Kya’s skirts, pressing her face against the softness of Kya’s belly, and begging to be taken away from Republic City. Her body ached with the memory, and she distracted herself by saying, 

“So you’re gonna babysit me all across the world, huh?” Lin was aware as she spoke that they had moved out of the subjunctive, and she wondered if Kya had noticed, too. 

“I don’t know, am I?” Kya asked. Her smile was a little uncertain, but a familiar challenge was beginning to creep back into her voice. 

“Where will we go?” Lin replied, dancing around the answer: _please._

“Where do you want to go?” 

_What I want doesn’t matter._ She had told Kya as much, sitting on the couch in Lin’s old apartment, with blood still colouring her thighs. She wondered what it would cost, this new, intangible happiness; would the city suffer without her? Would Korra need her in her absence? Would it even work, whatever this was between her and Kya? Perhaps they would set out, excitable and giddy, only to find that whatever spark existed between them wasn’t enough to sustain anything real. 

Would it be worth it, then? Lin turned to face Kya—taking in the familiar slope of her nose, the graceful curve of her lip, the fire in her ocean blue eyes—and decided it would. 

“Anywhere.” Lin said. “I’ll go anywhere you’ll take me.” 

For a moment, Kya froze, and Lin feared she had ruined everything; none of what they said had been real, and she’d ruined it by trying to make it so. She scrambled for something to say, some way to take it back, but before she could, Kya’s gentle fingers were beneath her chin, holding her in place. She was so close, Lin could see the tiny lines at the corner of Kya’s eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. Kya gave the gentlest of tugs, and Lin went easily to her. Their lips met softly, but Lin felt electricity course through her as she raised her hand to brush her fingertips against Kya’s temple; her whole body trembled with the effort of not sinking her fingers into those silver waves, not pulling Kya against her, not opening her mouth to kiss and kiss and kiss her until they were both breathless. If she did, Lin knew she would be lost. 

So she held herself back, keeping her touch light and her kiss impossibly gentle until Kya pulled reluctantly back. It was barely a movement, but it allowed Kya space to say,

“Write to me.” Kya’s lips brushed against Lin’s with every word. “Write to me when you’re ready, and I’ll tell you where to meet me.” 

“I will.” Lin spoke without thinking. “I promise.” 

Lin wondered for a moment if Kya was going to kiss her again, but she had no sooner thought it than Kya moved away. Lin watched her get to her feet, slightly dumbstruck, and Kya smiled. 

“You’re gonna miss the ferry again,” she said, nodding towards where the little boat was just pulling up to the dock. Kya held out a hand to help Lin up, and Lin took it gratefully. Their hands remained clasped as they clambered back up the rocks and onto the dock, where the ferry was now waiting. 

“See you soon, Lin,” Kya said, looking down at their entwined fingers. “Try to stay safe, yeah?” 

Lin laughed softly. 

“I’ll do my best.”

Kya raised Lin’s hand to her mouth to place a gentle kiss on the backs of Lin’s fingers, before she loosened her grip, letting Lin’s hand fall back down to her side, and walked away. As Lin watched her go, she wanted nothing more than to chase after her, to hold her close and tell her she was ready _now._ She would beg Kya to come back to the city, back to Lin’s apartment and Lin’s bed and Lin’s life. But Kya deserved better than that. She didn’t deserve to have to fight with the city for Lin’s attention, the way Tenzin had. They could wait a little longer. 

As the ferry began its slow, rolling course back towards the city, Lin stood at the stern and watched Kya retreat up the hill towards the house, where a figure waited for her in the low orange light of the porch, and she smiled as Tenzin wrapped his sister in a tight embrace. Despite the cold sharpness of the air, Lin breathed easier than she had in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! The main thing that was holding me back from writing this before, was that I liked the lack of closure at the end of "Heartbeat", and I didn't want to tie everything up in a neat little bow with a sequel. I did, however, want to explore what might happen afterwards, so I hope I've managed to walk the line of making this sequel satisfying while still leaving a little bit of that open-endedness! 
> 
> In any case, I hope you all enjoyed the ride! Thanks for reading and being so generous with your words <3

**Author's Note:**

> Me, pointing at Lin Beifong: is anyone gonna hold her? 
> 
> As always, I am thirsty for comments, if you have them <3


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